


Zaterdag 09:58

by Foxsake5



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Cold Showers, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Grocery Shopping, M/M, Mild Angst, Morning Kisses, Read with a cup of tea on a rainy day because honestly no plot all fluff, Sexual Content, Socks in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22366447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxsake5/pseuds/Foxsake5
Summary: What happened after the croissants dropped to the floor 🥐🤭💕
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 25
Kudos: 357





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sander and Robbe's developing relationship is so inspiring to me and makes me so soft. More to come. The day is still young, eh?
> 
> Lyrics: House on Fire by Sia

**Zaterdag 09:58**

“I’m holding on to you-” The kiss was warm and gentle, and Robbe felt himself sink into the bed even as he strained to get closer. “And I’m never ever letting go.”

Sander spoke softly, but with a hint of mischief that reminded Robbe of their first day together, when he climbed onto the trolley and Sander had leaned over it from the other side, pushing, and warned him to _hold on tight_. 

Now it was Sander promising to hold him no matter what, and if Robbe was brave he could completely let go.

Sander moved from Robbe’s already pliant mouth to his neck, tongue flicking out in between the lazy dragging of his lips. His hand found its way under Robbe’s t-shirt with a bit more urgency than his languid kisses, and a sigh caught in Robbe’s throat, his body instantly responding to Sander’s touch. The croissants and his phone slid unnoticed from his slackened grip to the floor.

“This is my favourite spot,” Sander murmured, and kissed the skin behind Robbe’s ear. “And this too, and this,” he continued, devoted to taste every inch of Robbe’s neck. And Robbe truly felt it in his bones. No more Chernobyl. There was no way he was not meant to live this moment, soak in it, and have it again and again in the future. Robbe would dive into the unknown at the mere wink from Sander. He would run naked down the Meir. He would shout it from the rooftops-

“Sander…” The name left his lips without thought. Sander’s hand clasped onto Robbe’s waist like a reflex, thumb accidentally digging into the bruise that had not quite healed. Robbe hissed. Sander lifted his head to check if he was okay. At the sight of him, desire spread through Robbe in a rush. His eyes were half–lidded and the look in them slightly hazy, so unalike the composed Sander a few minutes ago, and Robbe knew they were not going to make it out of bed until past noon.

During their previous times together, they had teetered on the edge, Sander too proud to let his guard down and Robbe too scared of what he might discover about himself. They had relished in their kisses, which truthfully packed enough heat for Sander to pull back and groan, and Robbe to laugh shyly, secretly whishing he had the confidence to take the lead.

It was not like they had purposefully stalled, but in Sander’s words shit happened, specifically on that Friday when Robbe had been so smitten he could combust, and Sander more relaxed and joyful than he had ever seen him, and they were just two men in love on the streets of Antwerp. Then unfamiliar hands had grabbed him, tearing him from his high and pushing him low to the ground. In that moment he still thought he had Sander, because Sander tried to get to him. And the next day Sander had said _hey cutie_ and _ik hou van u_ , and Robbe still thought he had him. And hours later, he had watched Britt place her hands on Sander’s neck and Sander lean in to kiss her, and the pain was worse than any blow, driving it home that Sander would never belong to him.

Or so he had thought. Sander had approached him last night, guard down, and offered himself to Robbe one hundred percent in every universe. And Robbe had missed him so much, and Sander had coaxed him with kisses against the wall, and they were not going to waste another second.

They had shared a laugh over those stupid shoes and smiled into their kisses, but the golden glow of their reunion was soon overruled by desperation. Robbe had not been able to shake off the sadness. It lingered around Sander too. Robbe had even heard it in the hitching of his breath as they moved together, quick and rough, had felt it as his fingers dug hard into Robbe’s sides, and had seen it in his eyes, dark and so tired. They had chased a relief they both foolishly hoped would fix everything. In the end, the sadness was still there. When Sander wrapped himself around him, being unusually quiet, Robbe had wondered if they were saying goodbye after all.

Eventually he had given in to exhaustion and fallen asleep.

This morning, as he realised Sander was gone from the flat, his heart shattered but he could not say that he was surprised. So, having Sander suddenly back on his bed, the scent of fresh croissants surrounding them like a comforting blanket, he _was_ surprised. Sander had returned with the daylight bringing forth the colour of his eyes, cheeks pink from the chill November air, and told him that from now on it was just the two of them, and Robbe had melted into his embrace, having longed for this, honestly longed for this ever since the trip to the seaside.

And then Sander had flipped them on the bed and crawled up Robbe’s front, pinning him with just a stare, and that was it. That was the power Sander had over him. Robbe’s brain immediately short-circuited.

“Robbe?” Sander’s hand was still clasped onto Robbe’s waist. It took immeasurable strength for Robbe to fully open his eyes and gather his thoughts. He must have looked as dazed as he felt, because Sander gave a snort and pecked him on the lips. “Planet Earth to Robbe,” he said teasingly, and Robbe, both hands free now, reached up to cup his face, fingers playing with the blond strands at his temples and thumbs stroking gently over his cheeks, not cold anymore.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I think I was floating 'round my tin can. Far above the moon.” He diverted his gaze when what he saw in the other boy’s eyes became too much. The past weeks had changed Sander as well as Robbe, stripping off a layer, and while Robbe could take the smooth talk and the bold gestures, he was unprepared for the extent of Sander’s feelings. It was like a cloudy sky had cracked open. He could not yet tell if those glimpses were sunshine or lightning. It was exhilarating and heartbreaking, and either way Robbe understood he had a lot to learn about Sander.

“Jacket, off,” Robbe said, deciding to distract Sander by undressing him. The paradox would hit him later, with Sander naked and glorious and so fucking distracting to _him_ that he somehow wished they had kept their clothes on. He slid the leather off Sander’s shoulders, but it got caught at the elbows as Sander was hovering above him, one hand under his t-shirt and the other at the small of his back. Robbe tugged at the jacket to no avail. “A little help would be appreciated.”

“What’s the plan then?” Sander inquired unhurriedly, smug at the effect he was having on Robbe and wanting it spelled out for him.

“You know what the plan is,” Robbe huffed, pretending to be annoyed.

“Nope,” Sander said simply. Robbe raised his chin to look challengingly at him through his lashes while Sander feigned puzzlement, but neither of them had the resilience to play this game and Sander broke into a half-smile and Robbe started laughing and a second later Sander was on his knees and wrenching off his leather jacket, his hoodie and his t-shirt. When his hands landed on the waistband of his trousers, he seemed to think that he should slow down and he paused, looking at Robbe from under his ruffled blond fringe.

Robbe pushed himself up so that he was sitting in front of Sander, legs on either side of his knees. He laid his hands on top of Sander’s, hesitating at the button, and tilted his head to look up. Their position brought back another memory, of him retrieving a pan from the cupboard, barely any space for the two of them in that godawful kitchen at the beach house, and he had looked up at Sander in a similar way, not really meaning to but setting spark to a fire that burned unforgivingly for the rest of their stay.

Sander allowed his hands to fall to his sides, eyes boring into Robbe as he worked to get the trousers off him, fingers occasionally brushing the smooth skin on his stomach, or the sharpness of his hipbones, or where Robbe could feel him grow hard under the layers of fabric.

It was quiet in the flat, in his room, aside from the faint noise of traffic outside his window. When Robbe pulled the trousers down Sander’s thighs, he heard Sander breathe shallowly, and when he pressed his palm to the front of his underwear without shame, Sander’s moan was loud in his ears. Robbe kept his eyes on Sander’s face as he moved his hand, persuading, exploring. Sander was biting his lips, a flush creeping up his bare chest. Robbe bit his own lips in sympathy, and Sander let out a gasp as if to say _I can’t believe you are here doing this to me_. It was the same sort of gasp as last night, when Robbe had licked his nipple, and when he had nervously closed his fist around them both and _tugged_ , and when he had done nothing special at all other than hug Sander and whisper his name.

Robbe stopped stroking and put his arms around Sander, drawing him closer and, still looking up, his mouth opened onto the bulge, wet and hot, his tongue thrusting delicately against it. He had no idea what he was doing, but Sander was responsive, and the mechanics of these things were really not that complicated.

“You have to stop,” Sander ordered, uncharacteristically unsteady, and he yanked at Robbe’s hair for him to get the message. Robbe chuckled and flopped onto his elbows, regaining his breath. Sander still had his hand fisted in Robbe’s hair and leaned forwards, supporting himself on his other arm. From this angle his black brows over those piercing light eyes made him look almost feral. His fingers trailed from Robbe’s hair, down the side of his face and to his throat, where they fanned out in a loose chokehold. “Damn boy,” Sander professed, half joking and half serious. “That mouth of yours… How lucky am I? The luckiest in all the universes.”

Robbe rolled his eyes. It was turning into a habit whenever he was with Sander. “Come here,” he said, intending to kiss him speechless.

Sander crowded him, the hand at his throat insistently shoving Robbe onto his back. Robbe fell easily, t-shirt bunching around his chest. He was sure he was wearing a matching smirk to Sander’s. It did not take a genius to figure out what they both had in mind.

Their mouths met with renewed hunger, and Sander stretched out on top of him, long legs kicking off his trousers before tangling with Robbe’s. Robbe had his arms around Sander’s shoulders, fingers travelling up the nape of his neck and into his hair on instinct, and he sighed into the kiss, feeling as if he was coming home at last.

Robbe had spent years denying his wants and needs, firmly placing himself on the sideline where he could safely observe life pass by without any real involvement. But sometimes the pressure got too much and he lashed out at his mother, Jens, the rest of his friends, Noor… He would snap, and they would stare at him in confusion, and Robbe had the urge to scream. He yearned for a reaction to his feelings. For someone to take hold of him and shake him, give him no chance to retreat. Wring it out of him. Someone like Sander, who saw what Robbe had to give and took it, greedy and unmerciful, and Robbe’s very soul found peace in that.

They made out until they were panting, and Sander rested his forehead on Robbe’s, eyes still fixated on his lips. When Robbe licked them to double-check, Sander groaned softly and had to kiss him again. He was running his hand up Robbe’s thigh, higher and higher, and his fingers were like magic leaving tiny explosions in their wake. Then he grabbed Robbe’s leg and hooked it around his waist, sinking further into him with his weight, before he toppled them to the side, not breaking contact. Both of his hands dipped below the hem of Robbe’s underwear to seize his arse, and he pulled them impossibly close at the hips.

Robbe tore himself from Sander’s lips. “Fuck, Sander,” he gasped, throwing his head back, and Sander’s mouth latched onto his exposed throat as he began rocking them back and forth, pushing into the heat of Robbe’s groin. Robbe shuddered.

“You feel so good,” Sander breathed against his skin. “So good, baby.”

Robbe was definitely past the point of rolling his eyes at Sander. Anything Sander said right now was totally acceptable. Just the sound of his voice made Robbe’s toes curl and he arched into him.

He cradled Sander by the jaw and unstuck him from his throat so that he could bring his head back to look at him. And he felt as if his heart lurched to a halt. Sander’s eyes were wide with wonder, his pupils dilated, and his mouth was slack with lust, which radiated off him like fever. Robbe had not expected this level of emotion projected at him. Sander obviously needed so much. Needed him.

“Baby,” Robbe repeated quietly, lips quirking at the cheesy term of endearment. He moved his fingers over Sander’s cheeks and Sander flashed him a bright smile. Robbe returned it weakly.

“What are you thinking?” Sander asked, tone hushed as if they were sharing secrets.

“Just how pretty you are,” he admitted, and kissed the corner of his mouth. Twice. And then a third time for luck.

“We can slow down,” Sander suggested, sensing that Robbe was lingering.

“It’s fine,” Robbe assured him quickly. Sander grinned and bopped their noses together, playful like a child, and why was Sander like this? Robbe had to close his eyes to avoid crumbling from the sheer affection on Sander’s face. He drew in a shaky breath, and then said, “Please keep going, Sander. Please.”

Sander wrapped his arms around Robbe’s waist, and it was a grip of possession that lacked finesse. His kisses burned along Robbe’s neck, and they were not consoling, but demanding. The craving was back tenfold, and Sander practically growled when Robbe’s t-shirt refused to be ripped apart. “Stupid t-shirt,” he muttered in reference to the stupid shoes of last night, and Robbe found himself laughing in Sander’s ear.

He reluctantly released his hold on Sander to help fight off his stupid t-shirt and Sander nearly obliterated their underwear in his haste to get them naked and they kissed clumsily through the scuffle, knocking knees and elbows. Then they fell together and Robbe reached for Sander and Sander reached for him, and they touched each other with the same fervour as yesterday.

Robbe looked down at their hands and thought it was surreal that Sander was so into doing this with him. But there was a strange familiarity about Sander, like they were meant to be, if not forever then here and now at least – though Robbe prayed for forever, he really did. Every one of his choices, even his mistakes, had led to Sander standing there in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets and being ridiculously captivating for someone talking about bacon and eggs and baked beans in the morning. 

Robbe had not dared to believe it at first, but in his heart he knew. Because to anyone paying attention it was crystal clear: Sander singing only for Robbe. Sander staring at Robbe through the cigarette smoke as if mesmerised. Sander sliding his hand down Robbe’s back with care. Sander making Robbe the best croque ever. Sander so confident that Robbe would be mindblown. Sander faltering as soon as Britt arrived.

Robbe searching for Sander with his eyes, guilt welling inside him, until Sander looked back and nothing else mattered.

Sander taking a leap of faith and revealing his fear of no one ever loving him, and Robbe thinking _let me try_.

Robbe leaning in for a kiss, and Sander meeting him half-way.

“Closer,” Sander croaked, his breath uneven and damp against Robbe’s ear. “Come closer to me.” Robbe was experiencing the same frantic feeling, like he was starved of Sander’s touch, but they could not get any closer. He soothed Sander with messy kisses against his shoulder, scorching under his tongue. His hand was confined between them, so he stilled his wrist to caress Sander tenderly with his fingertips instead. Sander’s hips gave an uncontrolled jolt and Robbe felt his hand automatically tighten on a downward pull, and the whimper escaped before he could stifle it. Sander captured his mouth, swallowing his next whimper, and the next, before they had to separate, lungs desperate for air and eyes struggling to stay open and they did not even have their hands on each other anymore, too charged with excitement.

In a frenzy, Sander shifted them so that Robbe was straddling him. They had been like this before, but with a different look in their eyes then. Now it was unwavering, loaded, searing. Robbe placed his hands on Sander’s chest for leverage, and Sander had his hands on Robbe’s arse again, guiding them into a rhythm as if Sander was inside of him. Robbe moaned, imagining it, and his nails clawed at Sander’s skin.

“Oh, Robbe,” Sander exhaled, and Robbe knew it before it happened. He willed his eyes open to watch Sander’s own drift shut and his muscles rippling as he spilled himself onto his stomach. Sander collapsed on the bed, heart beating like a trapped bird under Robbe’s palm, but he was not done. He tossed his head and steered Robbe against his lap with strong hands, begging Robbe not to stop, he would die if Robbe ever stopped, _please Robbe_. It was overwhelming and Robbe was at a loss how to deal with him.

“Sander,” he tried, breathless, and Sander visibly shivered at the sound of his name. “Hey, Sander…” He bowed to nuzzle Sander’s temple, his necklace pooling like molten gold on Sander’s collarbones, and took both of them in his hand more carefully than Sander wanted. Sander protested feebly, but they were not in a hurry, they could do this all day on Robbe’s bed with the sun shining in and no one disturbing them.

“You’re so hot,” he whispered, smiling into the tufts of Sander’s blond hair sticking up everywhere. He kissed his forehead, and when he straightened Sander was calmer and breathing a little easier. Robbe steadied himself with his free hand on Sander’s waist, tracing the skin with his thumb.

Sander unclenched his hands and his head fell back onto Robbe’s pillow. “Fuck,” he sighed, eyes still closed.

Robbe was a little startled by the impact he was having on Sander. He was aware that the other boy was experienced. It was evident even in the way he carried himself, gracefully but with swagger, and in his lazy half-smiles and brazen looks, which equally intimidated and tempted Robbe to a ludicrous degree. When Sander impatiently bucked his hips to jostle Robbe in his place, he could not help laughing. He was hardly pulling trick after trick from his sleeve to get Sander reeling. Sander opened his eyes to look at him expectantly.

“Am I doing all the work?” Robbe asked, amused.

“Mhm,” Sander replied, folding his arms behind his head, and shot Robbe a wry smile. 

Robbe took the hint, but instead of rubbing them to finish like last night, he wanted something else, something he had got a taste of earlier.

He disentangled from Sander and moved purposefully down his body. He ignored Sander’s soft, “Robbe?” and settled between his legs. He got almost cross-eyed from being this close, but he unabashedly drank in the whole sight. He saw himself from above, small and naked on a bed with blue sheets in broad daylight, so eager to give another boy a blow job, and his heart jumped into his throat. It was not supposed to be a big step but all of a sudden, he was apprehensive. Maybe if he tried one tiny lick first and then-

“Fuck, babe, that's... _God_.”

Sander was heavy on his tongue, sticky and salty, pulsating a little when he gripped the base and lowered his mouth onto him. He swirled his tongue around to explore the veins and the ridges, and he felt Sander draw up at that. Robbe pressed the back of his tongue to him, unrelenting. Then he gave a solid suck and pulled off. He lapped at him and kissed him, making him all wet, running his lips along him, even where the skin was pink and more delicate, and then up again to take him in his mouth.

He used both of his hands now, cradling Sander with his fingers, so lost in his worship that he barely noticed he was humming, really enjoying himself, until Sander could no longer be restrained. Robbe let go of him and puffed out a breath when he was nearly smacked on the cheek as Sander writhed restlessly.

“Robbe, no,” Sander complained. His hands were covering his face, and his chest was heaving, glistening with sweat. Robbe had tried to take him deeper, to let him do as he needed, but he was new to this and he could not keep up with the pace. Robbe climbed back up and curled his fingers around Sander’s wrists to pry his hands away. Sander did not pause at Robbe’s dishevelled look and sore lips. He plunged his tongue into Robbe’s mouth to taste himself, and then he took complete charge, deft hands going where Robbe was already ablaze.

They moved in sync and it was like they had done this a thousand times in the past. Robbe moaned when Sander encouraged him, telling him that he was beautiful, that he wanted to draw him in every shade of charcoal grey on the most expensive sheets of paper, that he wanted to keep the image of Robbe looking like this forever. And Robbe was thinking _never let me go_ over and over, and Sander must have read his mind because he hugged him tighter, both of their hearts racing, and said fiercely, “I promise.”

It was a weird sensation to be going up in flames and drowning at the same time. In an instant Robbe was flung into space, drifting silently among the stars. When Sander sank his teeth into his neck he spiralled, landing on the bed with the breath violently knocked out of him and clinging to the sheets.

“Sander, I can’t anymore-”

“Then don’t,” Sander cut him off, and the look he gave Robbe was ravaging. He dragged them against one another so tightly, so slickly, and his hand at the small of Robbe’s back inched lower and lower. The implication was like a phantom touch where Robbe needed Sander the most, and it tipped him over the edge. And as he went, Sander followed. 

They clutched at each other like their lives depended on it, mouths aiming for kisses but failing as the peak of the moment merged their bodies into one, and they could only feel what the other felt. Robbe held Sander’s face in his hands and he was looking at his entire world, black lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, brows furrowing as if in pain, lips puffy and red. Deep sounds of longing mixing with Robbe’s name. And Robbe loved him.

While Robbe was thoroughly worn-out after, Sander propped himself onto his elbow to study Robbe, who had ended up on his back, arms sprawled over his head. He had managed to shove one leg under the duvet, and the other was bent at the knee, resting leisurely against Sander. His necklace had slung itself taut around his throat, but he could not be bothered to adjust it. He could not bother to lift a finger.

Sander’s eyes roamed over him, a pleased smile forming on his lips, which he bit down on, trying not to let it spread. Robbe _tsk_ -ed at how silly Sander was for being so appreciative. Sander curved an arm around Robbe’s waist, undeterred, and dove in to steal a kiss.

“Like an angel sent to me from the heavens,” he observed. Robbe gave him a sidelong glance to determine if he was for real but Sander was focused on Robbe’s neck again, and all Robbe saw was the line of his jaw working as he retracked his favourite spots, and the beauty mark high on his cheekbone, and his cute ear, and his tousled blond hair. “You do realise you’re mine now,” Sander announced, voice muffled. When Robbe did not comment, he gave one last nibble, making sure it stung because he was a rebel like that, and raised his head to confront Robbe. “You are, though, right?”

“Of course I am, Sander.” Robbe thought it was funny that Sander needed the reassurance. How did he not understand that Robbe’s love for him was bigger? He lifted his arm, which felt like it weighed a ton, and placed it around Sander’s shoulders, pulling him in. Robbe kissed the top of his head as Sander snuggled up against him, sighing happily, and this was new. 

Sander was mindlessly drawing on Robbe’s chest with his fingers. The zig-zaggy shape of a lightning bolt. Then there were letters, nearly too slow for Robbe’s fuzzy brain to process. Robbe whispered the words back into Sander’s hair.

“You know, I’ve never felt like this before,” Sander confessed after some time had passed. This plain honesty was also new.

“Me neither,” Robbe said, a little awestruck, staring unblinking at the ceiling like it was a sky full of stars. It was safe to say no one had touched him like Sander did. He thought back on the night of his friends’ Halloween prank and his grim outlook on life even as he sat on the rooftop with lovely Noor by his side, kissing him sloppily in the moonlight. He had felt a pull towards Sander, and once their eyes locked the awareness of wanting _him_ had manifested solidly in Robbe’s mind, spurred by the alcohol. If they had found themselves alone, Robbe would have walked right up to him and licked the liquor off his lips, all defences crashing down. Four days of knowing Sander existed had done that to him. “When I first saw you, I knew,” he added, as he recalled that dizzying feeling.

“Was the moonlight shining down on me too?” Sander sounded sleepy but he was listening.  
  
“Actually, yeah.” Robbe smiled as he realised. “And I knew it right away: I have to get this boy naked and in my bed,” he finished bluntly, because that undeniably had been one of his first traitorous thoughts, especially during the Halloween party when he was helpless to the physical attraction but not ready to do anything about it.

Sander burst out laughing. Robbe had never heard him laugh like this. He joined in.

“ _Amai_ , Robbe,” Sander exclaimed. He looked at Robbe with a devilish glint in his eyes. “And I would have been so willing if you’d asked. Can you imagine? We’d never have left that room Amber said was only for couples.”

“Nope,” Robbe seconded, using one of the words he had adopted from Sander. He tried not to think about the scenario of Britt and Noor and the others outside in the sand dunes, unknowing. At the same time the idea was exciting, and his fingers curled into Sander’s hair rougher than intended as Sander kissed him, and then kissed him again, and again, this one slow and deep, briefly taking them back to the mood from earlier.

“Can you imagine,” Sander repeated wistfully, detaching from the kiss. Robbe pouted, but to be fair they were spent and in great need of a shower. And some food. Robbe could not remember when he last ate.

Not really sure if they were alone in the flat or not, they opted for putting on their underwear and t-shirts. To their astonishment they discovered that Sander was still wearing his socks. How gone had they been, exactly? Robbe laughed hard when Sander accused the socks of treachery for tainting his suave image like this. Robbe questioned the suaveness of dinosaur socks as a fashion choice, and Sander tackled him to the bed to shut him up _,_ telling him _they’re cool_ , _skater boy._

Now they were sitting on the edge of Robbe’s bed with stupid smiles on their faces, reluctant to leave the room and break the spell. Sander was fidgeting with a ring, which he had collected from his green bag on the floor. It was a broad silver band, and it suited his artist’s fingers. Robbe did not think he had ever seen him with it but supposed it had meaning to Sander. He leaned over and kissed Sander for the millionth time, excited at the prospect of finding so many more things to love about him.

“Why don’t we show them?” Sander said, as if coming to a decision. At Robbe’s puzzled look he picked up Robbe’s phone, conveniently located by their feet, and made a gesture for him to unlock it. Robbe did, and Sander swung his arms around him, using gravity to pull them backwards onto the mattress.

“Take a picture for the world to see,” Sander insisted, burrowing his face in Robbe’s neck. When Robbe switched on the camera and was confronted with the state of them, he snickered.

“We can’t post a picture looking like this, Sander.”

Sander sighed at his modesty. He combed down his hair and pushed Robbe’s fringe out of his face, and decided they looked just fine. Then he kissed Robbe sweetly on the cheek and chanted, “Take the picture,” and so Robbe did, easily swayed.

“We look so happy,” Sander mused.

“We are happy,” Robbe corrected, and the giddy sensation washed over him. He was happy, so, so happy, and was it not the strangest feeling?

“I’m happy with you,” Sander appeased. “Especially when your tongue does that incredible thing on my-”

Robbe clamped a hand over Sander’s mouth, too embarrassed to hear him say it.

Sander acted perplexed at Robbe’s awkwardness but absolutely enjoying it. He removed Robbe’s hand and linked their fingers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not _ashamed_.” Robbe was back to rolling his eyes at Sander. “It was my first time, so I sort of just… Didn’t know if I was good or not. We don’t have to talk about it.”

Sander’s eyes went big.

“What? I’ve told you you’re the first guy for me,” Robbe softly reminded him, and mimicked the motion of a bomb exploding. His little _poof_ was effectively ruined when Sander kissed him.

“I know,” Sander mumbled against his lips. “Just can’t believe it, is all.”

“I was _that_ good?” Robbe quipped.

Sander smirked at him and lowered his voice to say, right in Robbe’s ear, “Oh yeah, like you were born to do it,” and this was so typically Sander that instead of sputtering at the audacity, Robbe split into a wide grin, adoring him with his entire being, and tugged him in by the front of his t-shirt for another kiss.

Sander ended the kiss by touching their noses together in a sign of contentment. Robbe moved his head to tease him, and Sander chuckled, placing a hand firmly on Robbe’s jaw. “Robbe IJzermans, why are you like this?”  
  
“I could ask you the same, Sander Driesen.”

Sander stared at him, and Robbe stared back. Then Sander flicked his eyes to the side and licked his lips, and to Robbe’s surprise he said, “You and Noor seemed to have fun at the beach.”

“I guess…” he supplied uncertainly.

“She’s a pretty girl, isn’t she?” Sander proceeded.

“Uh-huh,” Robbe acknowledged. “Anything you want to tell me, Sander?”

“Oh no, just pondering.”

“Pondering?” Robbe echoed. “About Noor?”

“ _You_ and Noor. Having fun at the beach. Like a shard through my heart.”

“Sounds dramatic,” Robbe said, mainly to entertain him.

“It was,” Sander confirmed gravely. “Her hands all over you, in your _hair_. How dare she.”

“She’s got nothing on you, though.” Robbe snorted at Sander’s wink, as if he himself wholeheartedly agreed.

“Glad you think so,” Sander said casually as he sat up, ready to get off the bed. “She really did like you a lot.”

It dawned on him then, and warmth bloomed in his chest at the concept of Sander being a _tiny bit_ jealous. “But I’m gay, Sander,” he told the other boy’s back. Sander’s head whipped around, looking down at Robbe over his shoulder. Sander could be so dumb sometimes. “I never did anything with Noor or any other girl. You’re the first, ever.”

“ _Echt?_ ” Sander was failing impressively at hiding his delight.

“Yeah,” was all Robbe had the chance to say, as in a fraction of a second his arms were full of Sander again, who was smooching him all over the face, causing him to giggle. 

“I knew it,” Sander whispered fervently. “You were meant for me all along.”

“That’s true,” Robbe murmured, and several minutes ticked by before they untangled and made another attempt at getting to the bathroom.

Sander hoisted him to his feet by his hand with more strength than necessary. Every now and then, Robbe had noticed, it was as if Sander forgot to control himself. Robbe collided into his chest with an exasperated, “Sander”.

To make up for it, Sander gallantly caught Robbe’s other hand, bordering on romantic, and then they were standing in the middle of Robbe’s room simply holding hands.

Robbe was blushing furiously. For some reason he felt that this was more intimate than anything else they had done. They had a tendency to crash together in a whirlwind of passion, with the overhanging dread that it was temporary despite Sander declaring that Robbe was the one and Robbe loving Sander so much it hurt. This peaceful moment with Sander meant everything to him. And for the first time Sander, who had been a firework living inside Robbe’s head since the day they met, was like any ordinary human boy, his fondness for Robbe written all over his face, and Robbe’s heart ached for him.

“So, you like boys, huh?”

“You too, apparently.”

Sander huffed out a laugh. “I like you,” he amended.

“Okay.” Robbe shook his head. “You make it sound so easy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t you ever stop to think, do I want this?”

“No.” Sander shrugged like it had never occurred to him. “I thought I couldn’t have you. I still wanted you, so much.”

“I’m sorry for being such an idiot,” Robbe said, expressing his remorse that he had fucked up their relationship from the start.

“Well, aren’t we two idiots then,” Sander intoned. He lifted their hands to place Robbe’s arms around his neck and then fastened his own to Robbe’s waist. It was like they were going to dance.

“You didn’t even regret it when…” Robbe was alluding to the fight on that Friday, but not pressing matters as that had sent Sander fleeing for reasons Robbe was still in the dark about.

Sander’s eyes narrowed. “Hell no, I would kiss you again right in front of those arseholes if I got the chance. They could threaten to shoot me, and I’d still do it.”

“That’s a bit extreme.” Robbe frowned. “I don’t want you to die for me.”

“But I would.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“Even if it was slow and painful at the blade of a knife, cutting me open, I would.”

“Come on, Sander.” Robbe was not keen on talking about death in this slapdash manner. It was a sense of humour that did not appeal to him. His mother’s gloom had enveloped him for so long. And Sander was becoming his most important thing, the only light in his life, and death had no business intruding here.

“Robbe.” Sander angled his head and looked at him as if incredulous. “This is me telling you I love you so much I’d die for you. Why are you arguing?”

“Because I hate thinking of me without you.”

“We could be Romeo and Juliet?”

“Look, we’re going to live ‘till we’re hundred years old, I mean you’d be one hundred and two, and that’s when we’ll go, still in love and holding each other, just like this.” He did not care if Sander thought he was being naïve.

Sander’s small smile was strangely sombre, even as he said, “You’re right, and I do have plenty of plans for us, so no time for dying.”

Robbe smiled back, maybe a little sad too. Sander was not so easy to figure out. He stood on his tip toes to kiss him, not knowing what else to do, until Sander’s lips twitched upwards and their carefree and love-drunk energy was restored. “Tell me about your plans then,” he implored mildly, between butterfly kisses.

“I think you know, babe.” Sander wiggled his eyebrows at him. “First step is you posting that picture so that everyone and their mother know you’re _mine_ and probably that we shagged all morning. And then…” He leaned in to let him know precisely what he was going to do to Robbe in the shower. Robbe was still clinging to Sander with one arm as he snatched his phone from the bed with lightning speed, tilting them and making Sander laugh, lips and teeth grazing the top of Robbe’s cheek. And it really was like they were dancing.

He glanced over at Sander, who was not watching him type the caption. Sander’s eyes were cast down and his mouth was softening, the shadows of sadness replaced by utter bliss. Sander could be a chaotic mess but the best kind. Robbe _thrived_ in the chaos that was Sander. But Sander was also this, something only for Robbe, and if he had wavered before he no longer had any doubt where he belonged.

It was loud and proud but Robbe thought they better handle it. So he posted the picture. And the caption wrote, “Welke kast?"

_I don't like to wait too long, to wait too long, wait too long  
Bring it out and bring it strong, bring it, baby  
I feel the pain and it feels good, I know it would  
Your heart burns slow, I feel the pain and I cry out, I cry out  
_ _I need you, I need you  
_

_Babe, oh I want to drink you in  
Like oxygen, like oxygen  
_ _Baby, I'm a house on fire  
_ _And I want to keep burning  
_ _Boy, I'm going up in flames  
And you're to blame  
Yeah, you're to blame  
Baby, I'm a house on fire  
And I want to keep burning _

_So take me to the heavens now  
As we burn down, as we are found  
Take me to the heavens now  
My heart screams out  
_ _I need you, I need you  
_

_Babe, oh I want to drink you in  
Like oxygen, like oxygen  
_ _Baby, I'm a house on fire  
_ _And I want to keep burning  
_ _Boy, I'm going up in flames  
_ _And you're to blame  
_ _Yeah, you're to blame  
_ _Baby, I'm a house on fire  
_ _And I want to keep burning_

 _I wanna keep burning_   
_I wanna keep burning_   
_I wanna keep burning_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sanderxrobbee, iguuus, clarwntiny, Oneoldwine and danceofmyimpressions for your lovely comments, and to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story so far and left kudos! 
> 
> Is there a thing as too many words of fluff and comfort? It's all very calm before the storm, isn't it. But let them have this day.
> 
> (I know, the titles of these chapters make zero sense. It was a dumb idea, since I don't want to split them into 'clips' and ruin the flow sooo... And this one just kept going. And I quite like that the chapters can be read as stand alones. So yeah, didn't think it through when I started this fic. Just imagine that it's Sander and Robbe minute by minute from 13:13 and onwards 😇) 
> 
> Lyrics: Avant toi by Vitaa & Slimane

**Zaterdag 13:13**

Robbe closed the door to the fridge and then opened it again, staring despondently into the light. He sighed.

“Still nothing?” Sander asked, humouring him, and Robbe let his head fall back with an affirming groan. “I’m not sure I signed up to be the sole provider of food in this relationship, you know.”

Robbe swung the door shut, sending one of Lisa’s old post-its flying. He looked over at Sander who was lounging against the kitchen counter, popping the last piece of croissant into his mouth.

He felt an electric jolt through his heart every time he caught sight of the other boy. Sander was striking, even while wearing one of Robbe’s threadbare hoodies with the hood covering his damp hair. Strands of silver fell over his eyes, which were the colour of mint in the brightness from the window. He was like an ethereal being, out of place against the ordinary backdrop of IKEA cupboards and kitchen towels and boxes of cereal. His physical attraction towards Sander was immediate. If he had passed him on the streets without knowing him, he would have turned his head for a second glance.

“You call croques and croissants food?” Robbe scoffed, in a way Amber would. He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Sander, feeling his slender waist under the loose cotton material. Sander enveloped him in a hug, and Robbe inhaled the scent of his own showergel on him. It was so _easy_ , he reflected, resting his chin comfortably on Sander’s shoulder. Whenever he reached for him, missing his warmth and solid presence as soon as they were apart, Sander obliged with no trace of any resistance, willing and indulging.

Maybe he should try harder to keep his cool around Sander.

But Sander drove him wild, and in a sense he had never expected.

Under the spray of water like heavy rain on their naked skin, Sander had stared him down as if daring him to make a run for it, emanating trouble, and no matter how he had twisted and turned Sander was undeniably _there_ , all-consuming. Sander’s hands had dropped to the low of his back, fingertips slick and dipping, and _I know you want it_ had slithered off the tiles. When Sander touched him something dark and lustful Robbe did not know he possessed roared awake. He briefly wondered if they were moving too fast, if he was showing Sander too much of himself, but he had caved and done so with outright abandon, the last shackles of his shame breaking.

It had been fucking sensational, surpassing every daydream, and Sander mightily succeeded in his pledge to completely and utterly blow Robbe’s mind.

“I’m hungry,” he grumbled into Sander’s shoulder, not mindblown to the extent that he could ignore the nagging hollowness of his stomach. He was a growing teenage boy, who could blame him.

“We’ll go get something from Delhaize.”

Robbe pulled back slightly, avoiding Sander’s eyes. Maybe there were some euros at the bottom of his backpack amongst his school things…

“We’ve got spaghetti,” he suggested. “And tomatoes. As in ketchup.”

“You call that food?” Sander recited Robbe’s words with a lopsided grin. His hands took a steady hold of Robbe’s hips, and he gently pushed him backwards out of the kitchen. “Zero stars on booking.com for Hotel Robbe.”

“I thought breakfast in bed would at least rate three stars,” Robbe defended. His fingers trailed up Sander’s chest to pick at the collar of the hoodie as they shuffled down the hallway. He lowered his lids to stare pointedly at Sander’s lips.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Sander said hastily. “Best breakfast ever. Five stars. No, a _gazillion_ stars.” He swooped in and placed a wet kiss on Robbe’s jaw, teeth hitting bone. Robbe reeled back and stumbled in a pair of wayward shoes, his grip on Sander pulling him along. “Careful,” Sander laughed, catching Robbe close, and how wonderful Sander laughing was, after seeing him bruised and beaten and broken.

Crossing his wrists behind Sander’s neck, Robbe smiled and angled his head to ask for a proper kiss on the mouth. He stood waiting for Sander, eyes half-closed, until he suspected it would never happen. His eyes fluttered open and he frowned.

Sander arched a brow as if to say _what?_ and then he unceremoniously let go of Robbe.

The boy drove him wild, all right, in more ways than one.

Sander tossed him a cheeky look as he walked by. Robbe exhaled his disappointment and spun on his heel to watch Sander crouch and lace up his boots.

“Come on,” he urged, when Robbe did not move. “You’re dawdling.”

“We’re going grocery shopping?”

“I was thinking of an impromptu trip to Doel,” Sander informed him, deadpan.

“Sounds fun.” To be honest, Robbe was not really paying attention. The way Sander’s fingers were delicately tying the shoelace in a bow had him transfixed. After what those fingers had done to him in the shower, he would never be able to look at them without going weak at the knees and wanting them on him, inside him, again.

Sander noticed him staring and shook his head in fond exasperation.

“Uh, sorry,” Robbe mumbled, and dragged his mind back to the fully clothed version of Sander in the dimly lit hallway. With arms like liquid he unhooked his brown jacket and shrugged it on. Sander disappeared into Robbe’s bedroom to find his own jacket, which was lying in a heap on the floor from earlier.

Robbe slipped on his worn Converse, all the while worrying his lips. “I can’t afford much,” he said eventually, keeping his voice neutral. It was not a big deal to him as he was used to not having a lot, even when living with his mother, but it was his problem and not Sander’s. “I just paid the rent, so…” He tapered off when Sander returned, holding his wallet up to Robbe.

“I’ll pay,” he said, unconcerned.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” Robbe tried to act casual about it as he pulled his maroon beanie over his ears while a barricade was collapsing brick by brick within him. He had spent the morning basking in the novelty of being referred to as _boyfriend_ and _love_ and _mine_ , uttered like silk against his skin. What he stupidly had failed to grasp was the true implication of what Sander was saying. A relationship. Which of course meant that he and Sander were a _team_ now. The two of them versus the universe. Unconditional and no questions asked. A shoulder to lean on. Nice things offered freely. 

It was likely an afterthought to Sander, who had dated Britt for months and moved as if he had claimed and been claimed by others before her, but Robbe had struggled alone for the most part of his life and did not take it for granted. There was a reason why he latched onto Jens through thick and thin, even when he was fed scraps, and if someone wedged themselves into his heart like Jens had, breaking through his barriers, he was a loyal soldier to the bitter end.

Sander paused and looked at Robbe, suddenly sheepish. “And perhaps a scarf?”

Robbe had to clear his throat. “Why, is it really that cold out?”

“Absolutely,” Sander lied. “And also, I may have done some damage to your neck.”

“But Sander, I don’t own a scarf!” Robbe laughed at Sander’s apologetic expression.

“What about this?” Sander unfolded one of Zoë’s thick woollen scarves that was more like a blanket. He blinked at the size of it. It would drown Robbe.

Robbe snatched one of Milan’s, black and oozing of cologne, and tucked it around his throat.  
  
“Sorry,” Sander told him sincerely. “I got carried away.”

“I’m not complaining.” Robbe winked, and Sander _finally_ kissed him then, hands coming up to frame his face tenderly. Robbe clutched at the lapels of his leather jacket in search for something tangible to remind himself that this was in fact real life.

“Thank you,” he whispered when they parted, not sure if he wanted Sander to hear it.

“For what?” Sander’s eyes got that glow Robbe recognised was only for him.

“Just…” He did not know where to begin. His gaze dropped to Sander’s mouth and he settled for a quiet, “Everything.”

Sander leaned in and murmured, “You’ve seen nothing yet,” and their next kiss was the very gentlest of them all, like an echo of Sander saying, _I’m holding on to you._

It took them another five minutes to leave the flat. When Sander was about to descend the stairs, Robbe folded his arms over his shoulders. “At this rate it’ll be midnight by the time we get to the store,” Sander commented dryly, but he lifted his hands to pat Robbe’s forearms. “You okay, babe?”

“Yeah.” Robbe quickly let him go, feeling self-conscious. He nudged at Sander to continue. “Go on then. You’re dawdling.”

“Oh really?”

Robbe dashed past him, sly as a fox. “Race you!” he called out over his shoulder.

They careened heedlessly down the marble steps, fingers dancing along the banister, shouts of elation reverberating through each floor. When they came bounding into the entryway, Robbe whooped and declared himself the winner. He swivelled to give Sander a victorious look, but Sander hauled him by the jacket and slammed him to the wall, just like last night, and Robbe’s grin faltered under the heaviness of his darkened stare.

Pressing their bodies together, Sander invaded his space and snogged him deeply and messily, until Robbe was breathless and undoubtedly resembled someone thoroughly ravished.

“I think I won,” Sander decided, infuriatingly smug as he admired his work.

The confidence and fearlessness he emanated around Robbe was staggering. Matters of life and death seemed to not faze him at all. But Sander was far from invincible. Robbe thought back to that moment when he had left him standing outside the building. Hope had visibly crumbled on his pretty face, and it was like blood on Robbe’s hands.

That day the door slid shut between them with a clang of finality, and Robbe had nearly collapsed against the wall, the hatred for himself growing monstrous. Those words were never meant for Sander, but he had been caught off guard and spit them out, frightened by the sudden swelling in his chest at the sight of him on his doorstep. When Sander had kissed him goodnight, shy and sweet, he was still reeling from that explosive first kiss in the pool and the gin and tonic. When Sander left with his bike, glancing back at him, he thought maybe they could do this again. When he woke the next morning, reading Sander’s text, he lost his nerve. The awareness that Sander would bring about a momentous change in his life was looming, and shit, how scared he had been.

And now he was standing in the same entryway, leaning against that same wall, and should still be a little scared, because Sander was a force so much bigger than him it was unthinkable that Robbe had ever managed to hurt him.

Sander was worth being brave for, however, and he took a leaf out of the other boy’s book and grabbed Sander’s hand, pushing determinedly off the wall.

“Come,” he said, with a slight beckoning of his head, and led them through the front door and out into the early Saturday afternoon of Antwerp.

A bus hissed as it drove by. Someone pedalled speedily down the pavement. People, young and carefree, were having their coffees and cigarettes at the bistro beside his flat. The world was presumably the same, but Robbe was facing it with his fingers curled around Sander’s wrist, and to him there had been an extraordinary shift overnight.

He stroked his thumb over the spot where Sander’s pulse was vulnerable under the armour of his leather jacket, and twisted to look at him and had to squint. Sander was almost too sharp in the harsh grey light of the overcast sky. When the sun emerged through the clouds, Sander pulled the hood down to reveal his hair, fluffy and white, and his edges softened. His small smile was affectionate as Robbe kept close to his side, shoulders brushing. Their pinkies entwined in a secret little touch, and not because they worried about the opinion of others. They just wanted to have this for themselves.

Once at the grocery store, Sander strode to the aisle with the toothbrushes, Robbe tagging along with the red basket on wheels in tow.

“This one is going to live at yours,” Sander announced, dropping a black and white toothbrush into the basket. Then he secured his hands onto Robbe’s shoulders and steered him further inside the store. 

It was fair to say Robbe contributed minimally to their shopping excursion. He located the bacon while Sander found the eggs, and that was about it. He was too distracted by Sander being Sander. They were not playing Bowie over the speakers this time, yet Sander hummed quietly to the music and bobbed his head smoothly to the beat. _How handsome you are_ , Robbe was thinking, amazed by Sander’s perfectly cut profile. It was beyond him that the other customers could be so unaffected. 

He really did try to rein in the admiration he felt was painfully noticeable on his face, but judging from the upturned curve of Sander’s mouth, he was unsuccessful.

Sander examined the two similar cans of baked beans in his hands with intent.

“Do we want chilli, or do we want normal?” He posed the question into the air, as if it was inherently philosophical. “Normal is boring, no? And that’s not us. Let’s go for this one.”

As he placed the can on top of the various items filling their basket, his eyes flicked to Robbe, catching him staring. Again.

Sander sighed, patience apparently wearing thin, and Robbe composed himself as best he could. But when Sander’s eyes settled on him once more, glittering under the fluorescent light, he understood it was all a game.

“Can you make yourself useful and go get the artichoke?”

“Really.”

“Yes, love.”

Robbe rolled his eyes, but if Sander was going to call him love he surely would do as he was told. He stalked off on the hunt for- whatever, something green and healthy and supposedly crucial to Sander’s elaborate dinner plans.

Sander and his plans, which were more or less random bursts of inspiration… Like when they had entered the grocery store and Sander said, apropos of nothing, “Our place needs to be closer to _Domestic_ than where you live now,” and when he snuck Robbe a kiss in the jam section and said, “So I can get you croissants every Saturday morning, baby,” and when he scanned Robbe’s body with his eyes and said, “And I’m taking you to Paris one day, to Musée d’Orsay, where pieces of art like you belong”. It was all talk, but Robbe was not bothered. He knew it was Sander’s way of assuring him they were going to be together tomorrow too, and every day after.

As he came by the sweets, he was quick to give in because who needed restaurant level of food anyway. The store was brimming with chocolate bars and speculoos shaped like Sinterklaas. These stressful weeks had expelled any anticipation for Christmas from his mind, but as colours exploded in his vision, he became a child again, his mother letting him pick his favourites. 

This was how Sander found him, with an armload of stuff that was decidedly non-vegetable.

“Am I actually dating a twelve-year-old?”

“Sorry.” Robbe looked at him with round eyes. “I was trying to choose one and the rest just followed.”

Sander’s façade was cracking, and Robbe broke into an uncontrollable grin. _Yeah,_ _pretend with all your might_ , _Sander_. He knew that inside his beautiful artist’s head there were an abundance of silly ideas, which unleashed would likely triumph any of Robbe’s. 

“Fine.” Sander threw his hands up in mock-surrender. Robbe dumped the sweets into the basket. “My mother will say you’re a bad influence.”

“ _I’m_ a bad influence.” Robbe raised his brows, disbelieving.

“You have no idea, skater boy.” Sander stepped dangerously close. “You make me want to do unspeakable things. I can barely contain myself.” His fingers found their way to the low of Robbe’s back under his jacket, under his sweater, onto his skin. Robbe sucked in a breath.

“Let’s not have this conversation in public, okay,” Robbe said, his gaze darting guiltily over Sander’s shoulder in case anyone was watching them.

“Forget dinner,” Sander stated with resolve, and swiftly removed himself from Robbe. “I’m done here. Come on.”

He took a rough hold on both the basket and Robbe and whirled them in the direction of the self-check-out.

Back outside, their burning cheeks stung in the crisp air. Sander carried the groceries, and Robbe snaked an arm around his waist. And then lower, and he ignored Sander’s slanting glance as he fit his hand snugly inside the pocket at the front of his trousers.

“You rebel, you,” Sander said with pride.

Robbe wrapped his other arm around Sander too, and they laughed when Sander clumsily moved forward with Robbe clinging to him like this.

“Fucking ridiculous,” Sander exclaimed, attempting to wriggle out of Robbe’s hug.

“It’s your fault,” Robbe insisted. “Should be illegal to look so good.”

Sander snorted. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Is that not allowed now?”

“It’s super-allowed, I encourage it even. Just didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Oh my God, Sander.” Robbe relaxed his grip and stared at him, agape. “I’m not resorting to your one-liners, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing,” he said hurriedly, noting the defensiveness in Sander’s tone. Robbe had written them off as Sander recreating a movie-like love story for him, because he was so starved of romance that he needed those grandiose declarations to believe in it. He might have underestimated their significance.

“ _Ik hou van u_ ,” he blurted, with the whole of his chest. “How’s that for flirting?”

Sander released the grocery bag and it plummeted to the ground – always so impulsive, this boy – and gathered Robbe in his arms. It hurt how tightly he held him. “It’s the first time you said it,” he whispered into the locks of Robbe’s hair, sticking out from under his beanie.

Robbe had told him, quiet and sincere in the afterglow of this morning, but maybe he had not been bold enough, needing a test run before he could say it louder.

His love was already on blatant display, though.

“I haven’t exactly been subtle about it,” he pointed out, and Sander chuckled, unwrapping from him with a bashful grin.

“Compared to me, I’d say you’re quite discreet.” 

Robbe wanted so badly to kiss him, but Sander’s all the way or no way policy would most certainly not be appropriate in front of his local Delhaize.

“I know you love me,” Sander disclosed, with a conviction that whipped through Robbe’s heart. “It’s just nice hearing you say it.”

He reached a hand up to ruffle Sander’s hair. Sander ducked playfully to evade it, and then his eyes widened.

“Oops,” he said, taking in the groceries spilling out of the bag between their feet.

“Oops,” Robbe agreed.

These precious glimpses of Sander with his guard down were rare, but Robbe was in luck and as soon as they entered the flat, Sander was tripping over himself to kiss Robbe, his breath a shaky let go of long-held discipline, hands trembling as they roamed under Robbe’s sweater.

Robbe was not a religious man but he praised whichever deity had arranged for his flatmates to be gone. He and Sander did not make it to the bedroom. Sander tore at his clothes and placed open-mouthed kisses on every inch of skin he uncovered, and he plunged his hand into Robbe’s jeans, cupping him through his underwear. It all happened so fast Robbe was simply along for the ride. Sander devoured him with an intensity that had him fall dizzily against the doorframe, digging into his spine, and when it was over Sander had to hold him up, or else he would melt, boneless, to the floor.

“What the hell was that?” he mustered the energy to ask, and Sander shook his head, just as baffled.

They separated slowly, Robbe grimacing at the mess, but Sander was in high spirits now that they had taken the edge off his abrupt desire, and after they had cleaned up, he planted Robbe on top of the kitchen counter and set about making them something to eat.

Watching him in the kitchen, one could easily mistake him for a full-on firework come to life. His fingers moved as if he was painting, his eyes gleamed with excitement at having Robbe hooked on his every word, and he even deigned to sing along to the top hits streaming from the radio, much to Robbe’s delight, enamoured by the sound of his voice.

“This music really is rubbish,” Sander bemoaned from his spot by the stove, the firework diminishing, as if mere minutes ago he had not walked up to Robbe with a brilliant smile on his face and mouthed _avant toi, je n’avais rien_ into the side of his neck.

“I’ll play us some Bowie then.” Robbe hopped off the counter and retrieved his phone to put on their shared Spotify-list. A text flashed on the screen.

Milan: _Is it safe to come home???_

Robbe typed in exasperation, not acknowledging the fact that Milan was wise to ask.

 _I dunno, Sander looks deadly flipping pancakes in the kitchen_.

Milan: _A boy who can cook. Robbe you scored._

“Did I mention a gazillion stars for Hotel Robbe?” Sander had brightened considerably at the familiar bass riff of Under Pressure.

Thankfully, they got to enjoy their meal without the interference of Robbe’s flatmates. While Robbe wanted them to meet Sander properly, he desperately needed to have Sander all by himself a little longer. Their legs tangled under the kitchen table, and Sander had calmed down from his initial Bowie and crêpes overload and was sipping his coffee, listening to Robbe quietly talk about his friends. 

“Damn it, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s dirty secret,” Sander joked, when he learned that Robbe had already told them about him before he posted their picture on Instagram.

“A pro tip would be not to spray paint your crush’s face on a big wall in lots of intense colours,” Robbe advised. “Moyo was a man on a mission.”

Sander smacked a hand to his forehead and groaned. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He peered at Robbe. “Do you hate me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“You’re not angry?”

“Is this an experiment in reverse psychology?” Robbe gently took Sander’s hand in his to place it against his own cheek, and he nuzzled into his palm. What these hands had done… They were magical. “I’m not sorry about the graffiti. You’re so talented, Sander. I can’t believe that’s how you see me.” The admission tumbled effortlessly off his lips. He wanted Sander to know his deed was valued, even if it was born from chaos and confusion. 

Sander traced the corner of Robbe’s mouth with his thumb in a pensive manner. The rest of his fingers curled in Robbe’s hair, finding support, and Robbe leaned into the caress. His eyes closed on instinct, and that prompted Sander to talk. “I couldn’t sleep,” he started. “My mind kept spinning, and I was thinking about you in all the universes.”

A key turned in the door and the unmistakable chatter of Zoë and Milan spilled into the flat. 

Sander withdrew from Robbe and scrambled to his feet, hovering awkwardly by the table, and seconds later Milan sauntered into the kitchen with Zoë behind him. She sent Robbe a sympathetic look.

“Hi, Sander,” Milan greeted. “Good to see you’re still around.” The casual phrase had an underlying sting to it and Robbe winced, but Sander shook Milan’s offered hand, unflinching.

Zoë bent over Robbe, elbows resting on the back of his chair. “We met up at a café and Sander is all he’s been talking about since,” she said under her breath.

Robbe sank in his seat, praying his life was not turning into a sordid sitcom. Zoë smiled down at him. “I’m happy for you, Robbe. Let’s catch up later?”

He tilted his head back and returned her smile gratefully. “Okay.”

She gave Sander a quick hug and then left the kitchen, but not without pointing a warning finger at Milan.

Milan sputtered, feigning innocence. “Whatever she told you, Robbe, is not true.”

Sander’s interest was piqued, and he looked over at Robbe, eyebrows raised in mild enquiry.

Robbe shrugged and got to his feet. “Sander’s all I’ve been thinking about too, Milan, I don’t blame you.”

Sander snorted and Robbe bit his lip to refrain from cackling at Milan, who huffed and reached for his rainbow mug in the cupboard with the air of a man giving Robbe the cold shoulder. “Is this how you treat your elders? I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. Zoë is spreading lies.”

“You don’t have to be concerned, Milan. I’m happy.” He and Sander exchanged shy grins, and Robbe wished he knew if Sander was comfortable with him touching him in front of their friends, because he really, really wanted to snuggle up against him and press his mouth to the soft spot between Sander’s jaw and his throat and-

“Cuties,” Milan said softly. “Go have fun. I’ll tidy the kitchen.”

Robbe’s idea of fun was naturally to get Sander in bed, but Sander was restless, something about too much sugar and coffee.

“Get your skateboard,” he instructed, and then dragged a reluctant Robbe back outside by the sleeve of his jacket. It was turning darker, and drizzling rain gradually coated the streets as black as Sander’s boots.

Sander had his camera around his neck and Robbe had his skateboard under his arm, and they headed for the park by the harbour, where Sander enthusiastically snapped photos of Robbe under the streetlights, undaunted by his insecurities and slight discomfort at being the object of Sander’s artistic fascination.

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” Sander mused, lowering his camera. “I can never get them right.”

Robbe observed him and had to admit that if he was the artist, he would find endless inspiration in Sander as well.

It was fair trade that Robbe should teach Sander how to skate. Robbe held Sander’s hands as Sander balanced on his skateboard, and not because it was necessary, but they were starting to miss each other again. Robbe had never imagined himself to be the type who wanted to spend hours in bed exploring his lover’s warm and naked body. The very idea used to make him anxious. With Sander, though, that sort of intimacy was a constant aspiration of his. He wanted to learn everything. What did Sander feel like, how did he taste, what was the scent of him, how did he sound, what went on inside that wonderous mind… Sander was a treat, but also a mystery Robbe could not wait to figure out.

Sander eventually sat down on the bench with his back to the graffiti and pulled Robbe in between his legs.

“I’ll spray paint your skateboard in lots of intense colours too, if you like,” he offered. The ocean breeze flitted through his fringe under the hood.

“That'd be sick.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Robbe looked down at him and furrowed his brows. “You cold, Sander?”

“Nope.” Sander grinned heroically, his eyes watery and the tip of his nose pink.

“Come here.” Robbe unzipped his jacket for Sander to find some warmth. Sander tucked himself into Robbe’s embrace, forgoing any pretences. His sigh was soul deep, one that Robbe could feel the entire shake of beneath his arms.

“There’s something-”

Robbe’s phone went off in a mass flurry of pings.  
  
“Sorry, it’s my mum. She texts me a lot in the evenings lately.”

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s doing better, actually.”

He had told Sander during their first hang out, sprawled on his bed with legs on opposite ends and sharing a joint, his hand in Sander’s hair and Sander drifting but peeking at him with one eye now and then. “She’s at an institution,” he had explained. “But she checked herself in, so that’s good.”

“This is why you live in a flatshare?”

“My dad can be so controlling; it was either this or move in with him. He doesn’t think I can take care of myself, but that’s all I’ve ever done really. After he left us, I’ve been taking care of my mum too.”

“How’s that been for you?”

Robbe had paused, uncertain how honest he should be with Sander. Not even Jens knew the extent of his mother’s battle this past year. “It’s worse for her than for me.”  
  
“You’ve got a kind heart, Robbe.”

“She’s my mum. I’ll walk through fire for her.”

With one arm still around Sander’s shoulders, he took out his phone from his side pocket and smiled at the myriad of messages from his mother, little quotes of love and strings of emojis and her daily update on the food they served her, reassuring Robbe she had eaten it all.

“It’s strange to think that I never knew what she’d do in the night, and now I can finally sleep, you know? I used to be like a zombie.” He mimicked the lifeless state he had been in for the most part of the semester.

“And then you met me, and it got worse.”

Robbe hugged Sander with both of his arms again. “Of course not.”

“I’ll make up for everything, I promise,” Sander mumbled into Robbe’s sweater.

“Since I met you, that’s all you’ve ever done.”

“If I hurt you-”

“I get it,” Robbe interjected softly. “Chernobyl, right?”

Sander blew a heavy breath out of his lungs and slumped against Robbe. “Something like that.”

The wind picked up and Sander sniffed, but he refused to listen to Robbe laying the responsibility on his inappropriate-for-the-weather leather jacket. They detached from each other, Sander begrudgingly leaving his personal furnace, but Robbe tugged him to his feet, linking their fingers. “Let’s go home.”

“For home is where the heart is, and my heart is anywhere you are,” Sander quoted, the cheeky glint in his eyes back in place.

“Then you’ll follow me,” Robbe reasoned.

“That I’ll do.”

Sander in dusk was different from Sander in daylight. During the day he tended to be withholding, too cool for school, smooth like the devil. When the sun set, he got more elaborate, dazzling, and comfortable in his own skin. He had one arm draped over Robbe’s shoulders, and he was gesticulating as he regaled how his professor had picked him out of all the other students in his class to have his own studio, based on how impressed he had been by Sander’s last assignment.

They jumped on a passing bus, too cold to walk the distance back to the flat, and they giggled when they nearly crashed together as the bus jolted to a start.

“…And then do you know what he said, Robbe?” Sander stood in front of him, swaying with the movements of the bus, his hands holding onto Robbe as if he was made of porcelain. “ _You’re a star, Sander_ , like I’m some sort of prodigy. What is he on, that old man?”

“You are a star, though.” Robbe knew nothing about art, but Sander’s skills were so glaringly obvious that even he could support the sentiment, however clichéd. “Like Sirius. The brightest in the sky.” He watched Sander through his lashes, and knew it unfurled something inside Sander, who licked his lips, as if parched, and tilted his head to almost, _almost_ , kiss Robbe.

“And you’re the moon,” Sander told him in earnest, like the Bowie-loving art kid that he was, and Robbe knew he meant it one hundred percent, so instead of rolling his eyes he put his hand on Sander’s heart and smiled.

This time they kissed against the wall in Robbe’s building with less urgency and more compassion, tender nibbles and slow smiles and eyes flickering to marvel at each other’s features. It was Senne who interrupted them, stepping around the corner from the staircase and carrying a plastic bag with clinking beer bottles.

“Sorry,” he apologised, as if he was intruding.

Robbe got a little embarrassed that Senne had caught a glimpse of their private moment, but Senne was unfussed. When Sander turned to him, Senne simply appraised him with a calm look.

“Sander, right?” He thumped Sander amicably on the shoulder. “Take care of this one, he’s not had it easy.”

“Senne, don't...” Robbe appreciated that Senne watched out for him, but he did not need his flatmates to give away how fucked up he had been these past weeks. Everything was fine now and that was all that mattered.

Senne shrugged. “Just saying it how it is, man.” He held up his bag and nodded towards the door. “I’m going over to Max. Say hi to Zoë from me if you see her?”

“Sure,” Robbe said, glad that Senne was so chill around him and Sander. Senne made a salutation with his hand before he escaped into the evening, his footsteps quickly fading.

When Robbe reached for Sander again, intending to get them up the stairs, he noticed that Sander was hesitating. His arm fell uselessly to his side. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.” Sander shoved his hands in his pockets. “But maybe I shouldn’t stay the night. I don’t trust myself not to-” He bit off his own words, and his eyes travelled past Robbe to stare at a spot behind him.

If Sander reckoned that he had to be some sort of saint because of a well-meaning comment from Senne, he was wrong. Robbe approached him and leaned in, careful. “You said you’d never let go of me,” he mentioned softly. Sander did not recoil from him, and Robbe nestled into his neck, letting his lips feather along his jaw. He felt Sander unfreeze.

“I won’t. I promise.”

“Then stay.” He kissed Sander on his cheek, before drawing back to look at him and get a sense of what he was thinking. “Don’t make me beg, Sander.”

“It’d be the death of me if you did,” Sander replied, lips twitching into a smirk.

“Oh, fuck off,” Robbe exhaled, dropping his head onto Sander’s shoulder, the weird tension between them dwindling.

“ _Darling, you got to let me know, should I stay or should I go?_ ” Sander crooned, and Robbe smiled helplessly into the leather of his jacket.

“ _Of course_ I want you to stay. Idiot.”

“Then it’ll be at your own risk,” Sander cautioned, tongue-in-cheek.

Robbe tipped his chin back and levelled him with a stare. “I’ll take that risk.”

Needless to say, the whole time they climbed the stairs Sander’s eyes were drilling into him. But Robbe did not rise to the bait.

“Why don’t we use the lift?” Sander complained on the fourth landing, tired but also endearingly grumpy from the lack of response from Robbe.

“I don’t trust that thing with my life.”

“Funny how you trust me.”

Robbe arched a brow and sent him a glance from under his fringe, windswept and flopping. “Unless you’re some unstable metal ruckus from decades ago, I do trust you.”

“Ah, so your lift is Tin Machine then,” Sander said admiringly, and Robbe, who was one step ahead, looped him in for a kiss solely on the basis of being such a goddamn dork. 

Inside the flat Robbe toed off his shoes, hung up his jacket, and placed his skateboard against the wall. The comforting warmth was familiar and welcoming, and he instantly felt at ease. It had taken him a while to understand that this was what a home should be like.

Sander came up behind him and tentatively curled his fingers into his sweater at the back. Robbe looked at him over his shoulder. Sander could be cute, though normally there was something that he wanted from Robbe.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Robbe pretended to be clueless. “Or are you hungry?”

Sander shook his head and then rested the weight of it against the nape of Robbe’s neck.

“Just want to be with you,” he said, his breath hot on Robbe’s skin as he spoke. He slid his arms around Robbe to pull him against his chest, and Robbe closed his eyes and enjoyed their proximity, as warm and comforting as a home. To think that twenty-four hours ago he had sat in the canteen with his mother and merely poked at his salad, lovesick over Sander, and steeled himself for the inevitable rejection.

Sander kissed his neck and then took him by the hand to escort him to his bedroom. He locked the door, and as they aimed for the bed, he peppered Robbe with kisses, loving him in a way that was so very healing.

“Wait, we should change the sheets,” Robbe protested, just as Sander flung himself on the bed and brought Robbe with him.

Sander leered. Changing the sheets would indeed be futile. Robbe groaned and hid his red face in the pillow.

Sander’s hands wandered to Robbe’s back and hitched up his sweater to gain access, and his nails dragged lightly across his skin. Robbe melted between Sander’s legs with a sigh of contentment.

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

Shifting so that their faces aligned, he smiled and Robbe was once again struck by how beautiful he was. 

They studied each other in peace, safe in the knowledge that it was the two of them from now on. Robbe’s eyes and fingers traced the planes and lines and slopes of Sander’s jaw and cheekbones, and the ridge of his nose, and the scar by his eyebrow. When Sander’s lids drifted shut, his lashes tickled the inside of Robbe’s wrist. Robbe moved his hand to brush his thumb over Sander’s lips. They parted on a soft exhale, and he nudged Sander gently, and Sander met him half-way, not needing to be asked twice for a kiss.

“This is the best feeling ever,” Sander murmured. “Lying here with you.”

Robbe’s heart soared. For so long, he had thought that he would never be enough for anyone, that he had to be better, do better, act this way or that, but Sander was happy with none of that extra fuss.

“What made you fall for me?” he asked, genuinely curious about what had attracted Sander to _him_ , of all people. He did not stand out in a crowd, even his friends made fun of him, and his personality was fairly subdued. Someone boisterous and gorgeous like Sander could have his pick. 

“Everything at once,” Sander answered readily. “Your smile in that dreary place. The colours of your hair, your skin, and your eyes. Soft and mellow and rich, like in Bryullov’s paintings. Your hands with those spray cans. The stupid smileyface you ended up doing on the truck.”

Robbe booped Sander on his nose.

“And the _look_ in your eyes,” Sander continued, unperturbed. 

“What look?”

“Like you felt you didn’t belong, but that didn’t stop you from giving it a go.”

“Story of my life,” Robbe added self-deprecatingly.

“Say it louder for the misfits in the back,” Sander cheered, causing Robbe to laugh.

“So that sad puppy look was what did it for you, huh? Too bad I’m not sad anymore.”

“You didn’t look sad to me. You looked beautiful.”

“I’m not _beautiful_.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No.”

“Are we seriously arguing about this too?” Sander looked at him like he had this morning. “Why don’t you just let me love you?”

“Sorry.”

“And the _apologising_. Sorry this and sorry that.” Robbe opened his mouth to say sorry again but Sander stole his breath with a kiss. Then his playful smirk softened into that half-smile of his, which unfailingly turned Robbe’s insides to mush. “Do you want to know a secret?”

“Okay.”

“I had been waiting for a sign,” Sander confessed, no hint of irony in his voice. “And when the moonlight shone down on you, that was it. That was the sign. I looked around and no one else had seen what I saw, and I knew then that you were meant only for me. My very own moonlit prince.”

“Sounds like a fairytale.” Robbe was blushing.

“Sometimes life is a fairytale.”

Robbe brushed a rebellious lock of blond hair from Sander’s forehead. “How can you say things like that, Sander?” he wondered, flattered but thoughtful.

“’Cause I’m crazy about you.” Sander got a feverish look in his eyes. “So, so crazy. I’ll do and say absolutely anything to impress you.” Before Robbe could comment, Sander’s hands gathered at the small of his back and pushed him so close that his breath stuttered, and after several tiny innocent pecks he probed Robbe’s lips open to deepen the kiss with his tongue, languid and luxurious, and the devotion behind it went straight for Robbe’s heart. An attack. Sander knew exactly what he was doing.

Going from zero to a hundred in a millisecond, his hands lifted Robbe’s sweater eagerly off him, but it got caught under his armpits and Sander had no patience for it, leaving Robbe to remove it himself while he expeditiously unzipped Robbe’s jeans. His fringe brushed Robbe’s bare shoulder when he had to bow his head to wring open the stubborn fly of his own trousers, and Robbe could not resist rubbing his cheek and nose against his hair, like a cat, lavishing him in affection.

It worked like a spell on Sander, though, who stopped trying to rid them of their clothes record fast and went supple underneath him. “You’re too good to me,” he whispered, and locked Robbe to him with his arms again, as if scared he would escape.

They made out lazily, drunk on each other's taste, Robbe feeling as half undone as he was half undressed. He wanted to change their positions, needing Sander's weight on him. Instead Sander spread his legs to give Robbe more space and then captured his mouth in a kiss that was achingly lovely and sweet, like a bouquet of fresh flowers for Valentine’s. It was the opposite of the hot and wet and messy that Robbe was used to. Spicing it up, he licked a trail from Sander’s bee stung lips to his throat, grazing his teeth over the skin, and grabbed a handful of the hoodie to pull it to the side so he could suck on Sander’s collarbone. He moved his hips, and when Sander moaned brokenly in his ear, trying to keep quiet, Robbe's stomach dropped. “You’re holding back,” he gasped. “Why are you holding back?”

“I want you so bad I can’t stand it.” Sander’s hands tightened on him, but his eyes screwed shut as if he could not bear to look at Robbe.

“You can have me in any way you want.” Robbe’s lust did not mask his honesty, and Sander’s eyes flew open to pierce him with an icy stare that shook him to his core.

“Whatever you do, don’t beg,” he ordered, correctly assuming Robbe’s intentions in a heartbeat.

“But- _Please_ , Sander.”

“No. It’s too much.” Sander signalled for Robbe to get off and rolled away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. His spine was visible through the thin material of the hoodie as he leaned over, head in his hands.

Robbe was left in the middle of the bed, bewildered, and it was a twisted repeat performance of his miserable experiment with Noor.

“Sorry,” he said, heartfelt. Maybe he had got too accustomed to Sander’s leniency and was due for a reality-check. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Sander’s fingers raked through his hair. “It’s not that,” he assured. “I just need a moment.” 

The bed was suddenly too small and the room stifling. Robbe got to his feet, zipped up his jeans and made a beeline for the window by his desk. He unlatched the hinge and it creaked open. The air was frosty and smelled of soot from the traffic and cigarettes and wine from the bistro and frites from the shabby wagon across the street, and the mix made him feel actually drunk, or hungover.

He looked over at Sander, in his rumpled black trousers and borrowed hoodie and fingers in his untamed hair, and he wanted nothing more than to curl against his back and kiss his shoulder and make sure that he was all right. But Sander needed to clear his head, and Robbe who was the epitome of needing moments to clear his head, was not going to put pressure on him.

“I’ll go take a shower, is that okay?” He had to wash off the impact Sander already had left on him.

Sander sighed, desolate, but nodded his head.

Stepping into the dark hallway, Robbe closed the door silently behind him and stood listening for any proof that his flatmates were home, but it was numbingly quiet. For a minute he stared unblinkingly at his skateboard that Sander wanted to spray paint in lots of intense colours, lined against the wall with Sander’s boots next to it. Two worlds colliding.

He guessed it was a good thing that Sander wanted to slow it down. He was the one with the experience and knew what worked or not, while Robbe was on literal cloud nine and if it had been up to him, they would have- Eh, well, best not to entertain that thought.

Feeling too hot and sticky, Robbe avoided the bathroom mirror as he peeled off his jeans and socks and underwear, in case he was confronted with an image of utter debauchery. Shame was no longer part of it, but he was still coming to terms with this relatively uncharted side of himself. Back under the spray of water like heavy rain on his naked skin, he thought of Sander smiling in the kitchen, carefree and brilliant, and singing French pop ballads while kissing him delicately on the neck, like pearls on a necklace, fingers burying themselves in his hair and lean body fitting between his legs.

When Sander’s arms came around him from behind and Sander’s lips were on his neck again, mouthing near unintelligible apologies, Robbe was relieved though he had expected this, because there was a pattern to Sander’s behaviour: Sander turning on his charm for Robbe at the beach house but acting lovey-dovey with Britt on his lap and then basically kissing Robbe right before they had to leave; Sander saying _ik hou van u_ but running back to his girlfriend and then spray painting Robbe’s face inside the shape of a heart; Sander promising him forever last night but taking his things and sneaking off while Robbe was asleep and then returning with Antwerp’s most expensive croissants as if he had it planned all along. And now this.

He placed his hands on top of Sander’s and then lifted them to his lips, kissing each knuckle. Sander was only human, and it would make no sense to rationalise him. Sander could be intense and demanding, and also vulnerable and insecure. Robbe trusted him, still.

“Will you say it again?”

“Say what?”

“What you told me outside Delhaize.”

Robbe turned to face him and almost gawked. Sander was stunning, his skin gleaming and golden, hair slicked back and silver droplets in his lashes. He did not look upset, just hopeful, and his gaze rested steadily on Robbe's.

“I love you,” Robbe said, voice wavering. Sander beamed like a champion and he had to flick his nose to take him down a notch.

Of course, his mischief had consequences, but not necessarily bad ones, aside from a bruised elbow when Sander accidentally knocked him against the tiles in his eagerness to kiss him.

Water cascaded over their shoulders. Sander chased the wild drops on Robbe’s skin with his tongue until they brought him to his knees. One arm slipped between the wall and the curve of Robbe's spine to tilt him forwards, and-

“Sander, wha…”

Flexing his hand on Robbe’s hip to anchor him, Sander shifted closer. But Robbe did not feel the warmth of his breath on him, only the velvety touch of Sander’s cheek to his stomach. Sander was holding him so reverently, in a position of praise, on his knees for Robbe, and luckily no one was there to witness Robbe trembling from the force of his heart hammering against his ribs.

Sander kissed his stomach, and he glanced at Robbe through his wet fringe to gauge his reaction. Robbe tangled his fingers in Sander’s hair and was about to fall, crash and burn, but Sander cut through his meltdown with a sharp teasing bite. He unclasped his hand from Robbe’s hip and dragged it across Robbe’s thigh, just like he dragged his mouth down Robbe’s abdomen, and then his fingers wrapped around him and twisted, the metal of his ring shockingly cold, and Robbe wobbled on shaky legs on the slippery floor.

“You don’t have to do this." It sounded unconvincing even to him.

“Shup up, Robbe.” Sander’s irresistible pink lips were hovering right above him. Then he took Robbe in his mouth, swallowed, and it was _otherworldly_.

Sander, with all his fucking star qualities, was cherishing him like they had spent _years_ together, like he knew what made Robbe tick. Robbe had to push a hand to his mouth to not be so loud. Sander looked up again, reckless, the tip of his tongue persistent in its torture. Robbe’s eyes rolled to the very back of his head.

“ _Fuck_ , I won’t last.”

He could practically _feel_ Sander smirk around him. “Hmm, in that case,” he said, releasing him, and the brutal end to the hot and wet and messy tore a whine from Robbe, much to Sander’s satisfaction.

“That’s mean,” Robbe panted, hoping his eyes were able to convey daggers at Sander.

“I don’t know.” Sander corrected Robbe’s slouch by his hips. “I think I’ve got you right where I want you, baby.” He nuzzled against him lovingly, and his index finger stroked along his length excruciatingly slow, sending shivers up to the tips of Robbe’s ears.

Even though Sander was barely caressing him, his presence alone was enough to make Robbe strain. One more look from those killer emerald eyes and he would explode. 

The water was decreasing in temperature, and Sander was being too gentle, and Robbe was getting impatient. "Why can’t I have nice things,” he muttered, and Sander chuckled, low in his throat.

“Oh, I’ll show you something nice.” His fingers travelled down him and then a little further back, and at the same time Sander sucked on him, sloppy and perfect, they curved confidently against a spot that snapped Robbe into motion. Sander could take him, all of him, he was not the least bit concerned, too absorbed in his pleasure. He hooked one leg over Sander’s shoulder and pulled him to his lap by his hair, and Sander drank him up, and this was what they were meant to do, no dainty kisses or polished lovemaking. His wanton moans had Sander curse under his breath and reach down to touch himself.

At the height of his arousal Robbe wanted to beg for more, for Sander’s fingers inside him like their last shower together, or _Sander_ inside him, but Sander had asked him not to and he chewed viciously at his bottom lip, tasting iron, and at a sinful stroke by Sander’s tongue he threw back his head, coming far down Sander’s throat.

Before he finished, Sander let go of him and leaned his forehead on his stomach, gasping for air. And then he whimpered, and that threw Robbe off his axis. He was ready to yank Sander in for a rough kiss and help him off, but it was too late, and Sander shuddered, his mouth open and warm and sluggish against Robbe’s skin.

“Never mind the begging, you’ll be the death of me anyway.” Sander sounded hoarse.

They breathed together for a little while. Then Robbe stiffly removed his leg from Sander, many hours in the skatepark having improved his balance but his muscles were sore from the fourth time of doing this today. Sander meekly accepted his proffered hand and gingerly got to his feet. Freezing water poured down on them. They were both in complete disarray.

“We’re hopeless,” Robbe concluded, in awe at how they could be so uninhibited.

“We never learn, do we,” Sander agreed, and they grinned conspiratorially at each other. It had only been one day out of a lifetime, and yet they could tell they were going to be fucking phenomenal.

Sander wiped a trickle of blood off Robbe’s chin. “What did you do to that pretty mouth of yours?”

“Keeping quiet.” Robbe smoothed back Sander’s hair from his eyes.

“And how did that work out for you?” Sander’s smile was impish, and Robbe wanted to clamp his hands over his ears as he recalled his own cries in the throes of passion.

“Anywaaaay,” Robbe said, extremely flustered, and to occupy himself he fumbled for the showergel, but mercifully Sander distracted him with a kiss to his bruised lip.

Shivering from the unintentional cold shower, they rushed back to Robbe’s bedroom, Sander’s fingers threatening to unravel Robbe’s towel. Robbe grabbed the first pieces he saw in his wardrobe and then propelled one of his white t-shirts at Sander and a pair of dark joggers, which would be too short on Sander’s ankles, but otherwise fit him well.

Sander was still not hungry, and Robbe had no appetite for anything but Sander’s kisses, and after he had changed the bedsheets – while Sander spun on his desk chair and inspected all of Robbe’s things within armlength and commented on Robbe’s school notes as if Robbe’s handwriting was the important thing and not the actual subject matter – they huddled under the covers.

“Cinnamon and green apples,” Sander murmured, after a long stretch of companionable silence. 

“Hm?” Robbe’s fuzzy mind was fading as he dozed off, fingers curled loosely against Sander’s chest and head heavy on the pillow they shared.

“That’s what you smell like.” Sander said it as if he had been thinking about this the whole day.

“Interesting,” Robbe mumbled, and this would be his last uttered word as Saturday glided into Sunday. Before he could let Sander know that he smelled like salt from the ocean, frosty mornings and crêpes sprinkled with sugar, he fell into a timeless and dreamless sleep, wrapped up in Sander’s arms, and his heart had never been more content.

Sander did not fall asleep.

His own unfuzzy mind was sharply focused on Robbe. Up close, Sander could count the faint freckles dusted over the bridge of his nose, from summer days at the skate ramps with his mates, drinking cheap beer and happily unaware of Sander’s existence. Sander had not known Robbe existed either, though he did have a feeling something or someone was missing. He had been unhappy, rather down actually, and maybe even depressed, in hindsight.

Sander counted Robbe’s lashes too, to distract himself from the intolerable loss of Robbe’s doe-like eyes on him, which gave him so much solace.

The ghost of a smile at the corner of Robbe’s mouth dimpled one of his cheeks, and Sander stared so intensely he could taste the angelic bow of Robbe’s upper lip. A twinge of want had him avert his gaze to Robbe’s cheekbones. He reached a hand up to feel them under the pad of his thumb. Robbe looked like he had been carved from the finest Italian marble by the most skilled sculptor.

The floor lamp by Robbe’s bed cast his tousled hair in an auburn glow. Sander rested his palm carefully on Robbe’s warm cheek and carded his fingers through the soft boyish locks. Despite Sander corrupting him, he was the same young and innocent Robbe he had met back in October. Although that had proved to be a misjudgement on Sander’s part. Robbe was not innocent, but no one had been able to tell that he suffered, and then Sander was the one who finally broke him.

Sander fought the urge to drive his fist into the wall.

And yet Robbe maintained his innocence, big eyes taking in the world around him, so easily impressed, so easily swayed, so easily swept off his feet.

Robbe was innocence and Sander was destruction. But Sander was going to try to be good for Robbe. He made that vow listening to Robbe’s beating heart and his steady breaths like calm waves on a shore. 

He stayed up while Robbe slept, because he could not fend off those nightmarish creatures in unguarded slumber, and it would be difficult to be good for Robbe if they got their claws in him. Sander kissed Robbe on the forehead and tucked him in under his chin. And if he stayed up, this day would last, maybe forever.

_Y avait pas d'image, y avait pas d'couleur  
Y avait pas d'histoire, mon âme sœur  
Y avait pas les fêtes, y avait pas l'cœur  
_ _Aucun sourire, mon âme sœur  
  
_ _Tu sais, le monde ne tournait pas rond  
J'avais les mots mais pas la chanson  
Tu sais l'amour, tu sais la passion  
_ _Oui, c'est écrit, c'était dit  
Oui, c'est la vie_

_Avant toi, je n'avais rien  
Avant toi, on ne m'a pas montré le chemin  
Je sais, le Ciel ne m'en veut pas  
D'avoir posé les yeux sur toi  
Avant toi, on ne m'a pas montré le chemin_

_Y avait pas d'maison, y avait pas l'bonheur  
J'avais pas d'raison, mon âme sœur  
Y avait pas de rire, mais y avait pas d'pleur  
J'étais seule ici, mon âme sœur_

_Tu sais, le monde ne tournait pas rond  
_ _J'avais les mots mais pas la chanson  
_ _Tu sais l'amour de toutes les façons_  
_Oui c'est écrit, c'était dit  
_ _Oui c'est la vie_

_Avant toi, je n'avais rien_


End file.
